10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 39: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SLEUTH BY PROXY the wall, the other sort of leaning against him. The big one was sort of laying all over the smaller one. Just as I took a step past them, Reuwer called my name. I spun back quick, and the way he’d called me, I was go- ing for my gun. “But I never even got turned. This other fellow smashed me back of the head and I went down. When I came out of it, I was on the sidewalk. So was my gun. So was Leonard Reuwer. Only he was dead—someone had shot him with my revolver. A minute later the radio car came along. There it is, I walked into a holdup, got a_ bad break, and now—now I’m suspend- ed!” “Damn it!” Jig pounded the steer- wheel rim. “How could they do it to you? What the devil do they accuse you of ?” “Well,” Vinson laughed, as if at himself, “some of them at headquar- ters don’t like me. Then, the news- papers made a big to-do out of it. If I was innocent, then I was incom- petent, and the papers think there are too many incompetent cops. If I was- n’t innocent—then I’m a killer. Some- one dragged up this stuff about the protection money Reuwer’s been pay- ing. They hinted I had a cut of that, and that I put the screws on Reuwer to make him pay up. “Now they’re even saying I fol- lowed Reuwer into Florence Street and that there was no third man at all. But the main thing is, some head- quarters big shots aren’t popular with the press. They’re afraid if they get the papers’ backs up over this, the papers will start a real all-or-nothing campaign.” “That’s dopey!” Jig exclaimed. ‘“Reuwer was robbed! How could he have been, and his money not on you, unless there was a third person to beat it with his money ?” “Don’t try to think of anything these babies haven’t answered,” Vin- son advised scoffingly. “They say I either got rid of the dough, and then knocked myself out, or that I had an 37 accomplice and let him get away with it.” Jig clasped and unclasped his hands, almost pulling his thumbs off. “You have no idea who he was? None?” Vinson shook his head. ‘‘He was big. I know that from the way he was lean- ing all over Reuwer. It’s easy enough to see what happened. He was holding Reuwer up. When I came along, he shoved Reuwer against the wall to keep him like that till I got passed. But Reuwer tried to get me to help him.” “What makes you so sure it was a holdup ?”’ “What else—” Vinson peered at him. “There you go! I never saw a guy like you, for thinking up some an- gle no one else figured on. It was a holdup, don’t worry about that.” “Well, what are you going to do?” “They’re going to have me up on charges.” Vinson opened the car door. “The best I can hope for is that they only put me back in harness, with a suspension. What I think they’]] do is break me, and suspend me indefinitely. Just let me drag on for months, then years.” Breath whistled up his nos- trils. “Until then, ’'m going to walk.” He got out of the ear. “I feel like I won’t go nuts if I keep walking and walking.” He turned away and walked off, head sunken between his hunched shoulders. ATCHING him go, Jig choked down an exclamation of rage and despair. He started the car, drove a block, serviced a phono. When he came out of the place, he cut from his route, and drove directly to Reuwer’s restaurant. He bumped a man, going in, recog- nized Carl MacCrowe, but MacCrowe kept going on out as if he wanted no apology, and neither said anything. Inside, the tables were all set with fresh white tablecloths, though there was no silver about. The only one in sight was Mrs. Reuwer. Jig nodded to her, but she looked right through him. He went back to the auto-phono. comiicbook CO